Batman Never Had It So Hard
by farewellblindgirl
Summary: Reposting. Sure, Batman is awesome, but he's never had to face a night like the one Richard Castle is facing. Now Complete
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1: Wherein Batman Finds Himself Thwarted by Pizza.**

**A/N:** Originally I was going to post this in honor of The Dark Knight Rises. Now I'm posting it because I need something happy to celebrate the fact that my brother had to skip out on the trip to the theater near his house last night, and that all of his friends came home safely.

I should warn you, the plot is contrived, the characters don't really act like themselves, it's all very silly in a way that would never actually happen on the show, and yet I hope you read it all anyway...

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Castle or Batman or Gino's Pizza.

* * *

_About two minutes after Always ends..._

It's no secret that Richard Castle wants to be Batman (or Ironman, except that he's not really good with tools and looks bad in a goatee). He's a millionaire playboy. He lives in Gotham. He fights crime. He owns a mansion and a loft filled with high-tech gadgets. He has a secret room. And based off the fervor with which Kate Beckett is kissing him, he is awesome.

So, really, he figures he's pretty much Batman already.

At this very moment, however, he would settle for being a bat, since bats have sonar. He's trying as hard as he can to manage to get Kate and himself to his bedroom, but he's having trouble because his vision is blocked by Kate kissing his brains out, and his mobility is impaired by the fact that her legs are wrapped around his hips. Not that he's complaining, mind you, but he's not quite making the progress towards a bed that he'd like. Mostly he's just bumping into things.

His foot hits something at the same time his thigh hits the couch. He loses his balance and he finds that they are falling. In what some would consider a superhuman feat of agility (well... he'd consider it one anyway) he manages to rotate them so that he lands on his back with her landing on top of him.

"Ouch," he says as the wind going out of his lungs.

"Shut." Kiss. "Up." Kiss. "Your." Kiss. "Fault," she manages to get out, then goes back to ravishing his mouth.

Well, okay, couch it is then. They are alone, after all.

There is a knock at the door.

"Someone is knocking at your door," she says in between nibbling at his neck.

"Pizza guy," he says. "We can ignore ... oh god do that again ... can ignore him. He'll go away."

She stops, sits up. "Pizza?"

"I didn't want to cook."

"I could eat. I haven't anything since... yesterday."

"Okay, but I really don't want to get up."

"Yes, you do. We'll both need the fuel for what I have planned."

That gets him moving. He picks her up off of him, puts her back down on the couch once he's standing.

"Yep, pizza. Pizza's good. I'll go get the pizza. Pizza!" He shakes his head as he hears himself. He used to be articulate. Now he's not. What if being with Kate destroys his ability to speak, to write? He looks over at her. She's lying on her back on his couch, propped up on her elbows and giving him a look like she's about to eat him.

Okay, so what if he can't write? It's a small sacrifice.

There is another knock at the door.

"Castle? Food?"

He shakes his head. He's been staring. He turns, goes to the front door.

The pizza guy is a long-haired seventeen year old kid who, because of the rain and his general demeanor, looks like someone tried to drown a disgruntled collie, then forced it to wear a Gino's baseball hat. Castle opens his wallet, decides he doesn't want to waste time counting bills, ends up handing the kid all the cash he has. Seventy-eight dollars for a nineteen dollar pizza, and the kid still looks pissed off. Castle thinks that if he looked like a wet dog, he'd be pissed too.

He takes the pizza box, closes the door, promptly forgets Lassie.

"Do you want this now, or ..." he says, not sure how to readdress the whole imminent sex thing. He hopes it's imminent anyway, and not just implied, but he's not going to force a resolution of the question until he's sure what the answer is.

"Put it in the oven. It'll keep for an hour or two," she says, but then her stomach growls. Loudly.

"Did you hide an angry bear in that jacket somewhere?"

"Very funny. Maybe we should eat first."

He nods, takes her hand with his free one, and leads them into the dining room. She follows him for a second, but stops them before they get to the table.

"Castle, can I get out of these wet clothes?"

"Somehow, I don't see getting you out of your clothes conducive to us breaking long enough to eat."

She rolls her eyes. "Yes, well, that's why I'll be getting undressed alone for now. But I could use something to change in to."

"No you don't."

"As much as I like the sentiment, I can see nudity and scalding hot pizza being a bad combination. I can also see nudity and bumping into the other people who live in this house a bad idea."

"Oh, well, I can solve that. Mother left for the Hamptons an hour ago, and Alexis is out partying all night for graduation."

"Castle..." she says, and through some incredible force of will, doesn't roll her eyes. He can feel the eye-roll anyway.

"Okay, right. Clothes. I'll be right back."

He runs into his closet and goes to grab a white dress shirt, but he can picture the punch to the arm she'll give him for trying to play out that particular fantasy this quickly, so he grabs a sweatshirt instead. Nothing else he has is really going to fit her, so he ducks over into the laundry room, grabs some women's shorts that his mother and Alexis have both disavowed ownership of. He doesn't think they are Gina's or any other ex's, but prays Kate doesn't ask, since he's out of other ideas. He goes to leave, remembers that she's soaking wet, and turns and grabs a towel.

He goes back into the dining room. Kate has dropped her coat onto a barstool, and her shoes are beside the kitchen island. Kate is trying to eat a slice of pizza with one hand while pulling her damp shirt from her body with her other. For a normal, mortal woman, it would look awkward, but because it's her, it's oddly graceful.

Maybe she's a superhero too. Maybe he can get her to be Catwoman to his Batman.

He shakes his head. Maybe he should save the suggestion of rollplaying and costumes for at least a few months.

She just flicks an eyebrow up at him when he hands her the clothes, like she knows what he's been thinking. But since she's the one who mauled him tonight, he feels oddly safe, so he just smiles, grabs his own slice of pizza. She goes to the bathroom to change.

While she's gone, he sobers up a bit. As much as he is enjoying where tonight seems to be headed, there is a rather odd whiplash-y quality to it that he feels a need to address, even if it might curtail the sex that is imminent. Or at least implied. His head is swimming and he's not getting any more articulate as time goes on. He collapses in a dining chair. He figures they need to talk.

"So, why do you have a pair of my shorts?" she asks when she comes back from the bathroom.

He turns, almost drops his pizza. He hadn't really planned anything with her clothing, but he has to admit the overall effect is ... effective. His sweatshirt is gray, well worn to the point of fraying cuffs and a stretched out neck. She's tall, but he's taller and broader, and so the shirt drapes over her. You can't see that she's wearing shorts because of the way the sweatshirt hangs.

"I'm not creepy. You must have left them here."

"Right. Just hand me another slice."

"Kate, um ... I'm thinking we need to talk."

"Is this one of those talks where you try to convince me that we shouldn't sleep together tonight?"

"No, no, of course not. I don't think I even have one of those talks. No such talk should even exist, ever. I'm just thinking... a hell of a lot has happened in the last few days. Thirty minutes ago, I was certain I'd never see you again. Seems like that should be, you know, discussed. Or something." Still not articulate.

She walks over to him, pushes the pizza off to the side, sits on his dining table facing him, so that her legs are on either side of his in the chair. She picks up another slice of pizza, then leans forward, looks down at him. It's not a position that is particularly good for his concentration, though he quite enjoys the view.

"Castle, we've managed to go through some pretty rough times, wouldn't you say?"

"Yes."

"And some bad fights? But we're still here, right? We've been able to work through them, once we both wanted to."

"Yes."

"And I distinctly remember, last time I saw you, you telling me that you love me."

"Yes," he says. He knows he's getting repetitive, but he's feeling desperately off balance, what with the way he can see down the collar of her sweatshirt and all.

"And you said if I loved you, I should give up my mother's case."

"Um, yeah."

"I've given up my mother's case. What can you infer from that?"

"Um."

"You can infer that I love you too. So, if we love each other, and want to be together, and when we both want to, we're able to work out our issues, then can't we reasonably say that we'll be okay if we table any of our discussions until, say, tomorrow?"

He smiles. "Are you trying to lawyer me into sleeping with you?"

"If I really have to convince you, maybe I'm doing something wrong."

"Kate."

"Yeah?"

"Have you had enough to eat yet?"

She looks down at the half eaten slice she's holding, shrugs and drops it back into the box. "For now, yeah."

"Good," he says, and then reaches out, grabs a handful of her sweatshirt and pulls. She lets out a little yelp that he can feel in his spine as she falls forward, lands in his lap. Maybe they don't need to talk after all.

He picks her up again, carries her towards his bedroom, her lips fused to his. As he's walking, he vaguely hears her say "lawyered" under her breath.


	2. Wherein Batman Braves a Scary Place

**Chapter 2: Wherein Batman Braves a Place Far Scarier Than Arkham Asylum so That He Can Buy a Mop Bucket.**

**A/N: Still contrived, but sadly all drawn from reality. I find I like torturing these two far too much.  
**

* * *

"Shit."

"We need to work on your pillow talk, Castle," she responds as he pulls away.

"Sorry, it's just..."

"What?"

They had managed to successfully make it to the bedroom on their second try, and even managed to get naked with a minimum of fuss. Castle had had a slightly surreal moment when he realized Kate was in his bed after telling him she loved him, but like any good superhero, he'd been able to recover and get back to business, such as it was. Well, until now.

"I just realized, I don't have any condoms. Are you on..." he asks, trailing off.

"No, I had to go off of the pill because of the surgery."

"Still?"

"Well, I haven't had a reason to go back on, recently," she says with a sigh. "Obviously I'll renew my prescription tomorrow, but ... you're sure you don't have any?"

"I threw them out."

"Why?"

"They were taunting me."

"Taunting you?"

"Yes, taunting me. You know, with their non-use."

"What about your mother?"

"If my mother has a stash, then I really really really don't want to know about it. Let's just go ahead and assume that's a no."

"Don't you, you know, have a guy?"

"For this?"

"What? You have a guy for everything."

"No, Kate. I do not have a middle of the night condom delivery guy because such a guy DOES NOT EXIST."

"Yes, well, there should."

"Not debating the point. You know, I think I accidentally gave that pizza kid a fifty dollar tip. I wonder if that would buy me a trip to the store?"

"Nothing's going to be open this late anyway."

"No, I refuse to believe that. We live in the Greatest City on Earth. Gotham. The Big Apple. If I can get 24 pirates who can sing in Russian to show up on a half-hour's notice, I should be able to get some condoms."

"How do you know you can get ... you know, I don't even want to know."

"My point is there has got to be a drug store open at," he says, looking at the clock. He laughs. "at 8:15 PM."

"It's only 8:15? Oh, thank god." She covers her eyes with her forearm, laughs in giddy relief.

"Right, good. I'll go, be back before you can count to a hundred."

"It is raining pretty badly out."

"Are Kansas farmhouses flying down Houston Street?"

"No, not that I saw, no."

"Yeah, I'm going then. You don't go anywhere."

"Hmmm... I was thinking of showering."

"No, no, no... don't put that image in my head. Not that it's not a good idea. Just, you know, save it for when I get back and am all wet too."

* * *

He goes out the front door of his building, breaks into a run. He's normally an indifferent jogger, but tonight he's pretty sure he makes the half-mile jog to the nearest Duane Reede in approximately fifteen seconds. It only takes so long because he has to stop for a few lights.

He looks like the Abominable Rain Monster when he enters the drug store, but really couldn't care less.

The condoms are in an aisle euphemistically labeled "Family Planning" (Shouldn't it be family preventing? Castle thinks to himself). Annoyingly, they are locked in a glass case, like they are fire extinguishers or jewelry, so he has to find someone who works at the store to help him. Sadly, the only person he can find is another seventeen year old. The kid's a clerk and looks like the basset hound version of the pizza kid. Castle explains what he needs, and then follows basset-boy back to the condom display case, wonders idly if his daughter is the only teenager in New York who doesn't look like a terminally bored pooch. Maybe it's a national epidemic, this canine-depresso-itis. Maybe he needs to get word to the press. Maybe he'll be a hero for discovering K9-Mary. Maybe he's lost his mind. He just needs to get his condoms and go.

The kid opens the case, and Castle finds himself paralyzed by the choices. Really, do there need to be forty different types of condoms?

"Dude, um, you know, I kinda like these ones..."

This kid cannot possibly be trying to give him advice, can he? Castle shakes his head, because no, just no, and grabs the first box he can reach, storms off to the front of the store.

The other clerk, who has finally made an appearance, is manning the register. She's a small, spherical woman who has grown into a realm of indeterminate age and ethnicity. While he waits in line, Castle amuses himself trying to narrow down the choices. By the time it's his turn to check out, he's decided she's either a 45 year old Indian woman, or a 94-year old Japanese one.

"No, you don't want these," she says, picking up the box. Her accent is Slavic by way of Jamaica. "These are no good. Come. I'll find you better choice."

"No, really, I'd like to check out please."

"You regret it. Come. Come."

He wants to argue, but she moves deceptively fast, trundles off to the back of the store so that he has no choice but to follow, especially since she's taken the box with her. When he gets to the back of the store, she already has the case open.

"You are big man. You prefer these," she says, handing him a box.

"Okay," he says. It seems faster than arguing.

"Or, you vigorous?"

"What?"

"Energetic? Full of pep?"

Pep? Really? Do people still say that?

"Um, I guess so."

"Then you take these instead," she says, handing him another box. "I let you choose. Both good. Much better than the crap you pick out first."

He's about to actually choose when he hears a voice in the next aisle.

"I can't possibly be the first person who has asked you tonight where your umbrellas are," says a girl. He can't see her, but he can pick out his daughter's voice anywhere.

"Dude, I don't know what to tell you."

Well, sure. Of course Alexis is here, he thinks to himself. Because tonight was going too easily. He's pretty sure that if she comes into the family planning aisle tonight, he will end up having a kiloton-level freakout event, followed by exploding in a fireball of hypocrisy, given why he's in the aisle himself. He has to get out of the store. Now.

"Look, I'll just take both, thanks," he says to the oblate spheroid clerk. Before she can answer, he turns and goes the back way down the aisle, away from his daughter and the clerk who apparently calls everyone dude. He gets to the end, peaks down the other aisle, sees a frustrated Alexis with two of her girlfriends and the clerk, looking around. He ducks behind the end cap when they look towards him.

How would Batman handle this?

Well, Batman would probably never be in a Duane Reede, of course, but it seems unfair to let reality creep into this part of the night, when it's been blissfully absent for the rest. Castle walks down the row, ducks into the housewares aisle, trying to walk normally, but looking more like a bad imitation of a clumsy mountain lion stalking its prey. Since, at some point, he's going to need to buy the multiple boxes of condoms he has in his hands, he can't give them up, but he really doesn't want to have the conversation that will ensue if his daughter catches him with them either, so he's got to hide them in some way.

He grabs a mop bucket off the shelf, drops the boxes in there. Sadly, this doesn't really hide them, so he walks down the aisle grabbing a box of garbage bags, some sponges, some Woolite, air fresheners, citronella candles, light bulbs, a tire gauge and clothing repair kit, until the bucket is full and the condoms are hidden at the bottom.

He's starting to enjoy himself by the time he reaches the end of the row, surprised by how many non-drugs one can buy at a drugstore. Duane Reede shopping has not been a large part of his life until now, but he sees how terribly convenient they can be. Maybe they need a spokesperson. Someone who has to handle a lot of diverse situations, like fan mobs and bomb defusements. He knows someone who is available.

His little celebrity endorsement fantasy has him distracted enough that he turns the corner, runs smack into his daughter.

"Ooff..." Alexis exclaims, looks up. "Dad? What are you doing here?"

"Oh. Um... just had to pick up some things."

"In the middle of a rainstorm? What could you possibly need?" she asks, looking down into his bucket. The condoms are well hidden, but he tries to angle the bucket away from her anyway. She takes a mental inventory. "Dad, what the hell kind of mess did you make?"

"Oh, no, no mess, just figured... you know, for the future."

"You were so overcome by the possibility of mosquito attacks, flat tires, and gently washed wool that you braved a rainstorm, apparently without an umbrella, to pick up supplies?"

"And why are you here, dear daughter, instead of out making merry and getting into mischief?"

"Elspeth's umbrella broke. We're going to a party a block from here. Thought we could duck in, get another, but we were having trouble finding them, and the clerks are ... not helpful."

"Elspeth? When did you befriend a ninety year old widow anyway?"

She gives him a look. He wonders, briefly, if the women in his life are hurting themselves with all of their aborted eye rolls.

"Yes, well, we finally found one, so we're going to go check out," Alexis says. "You ready to check out too?"

"No! I mean, no, that's okay, honey. I need one more thing. You all go, get out of here, get back to your fun."

"What's the last thing? We've been all over this store, could probably help you find it."

"Oh, no, it's just ... I forgot. I forgot what the last thing is."

"Oh, okay. Well we can check out then."

"I think I'll just keep wandering around, try to see if something jogs my memory."

"Are you sure you're okay, Dad? You seem really agitated and weird tonight."

"I'm sure, honey. Go have fun."

"You sure, Dad?"

"Go. Go."

She gives him an odd look, seems to know he's lying but apparently she decides not to call him on it, because she turns and goes back to her friends. He wanders the store, checking the front until he sees the gaggle of girls leave. He waits another minute, then checks out.

He gets the dude clerk this time, works hard to avoid eye contact lest the kid try to talk to him again.

"That'll be $138.44, dude."

Castle blinks, shakes his head. Maybe the convenience isn't quite worth it, he thinks, and screw the celebrity endorsements. He hands the kid a credit card. He takes his things, heads back out into the storm.

He gets about a block before he realizes two things. First, it's not really smart to carry a bucket in a heavy rainstorm unless you are trying to collect rainwater, and two, he probably didn't need to buy the bucket and tire gauge and the rest since they were merely there for concealment until Alexis left. But, he chalks the lapse in thinking up the fact that it's now been nearly an hour since he saw Kate, which means an hour of delaying sex. That's not good for anyone's mental processes.

He pulls himself into a doorway, dumps the rainwater out of the bucket. He drops the bag with the rest of his stuff into the bucket, then pulls out a garbage bag to cover the entire thing. He contemplates using another of the trash bags to make himself a sort of poncho, but realizes that, given the way the night has been going, it's likely that his impromptu poncho would end up choking him or getting him arrested or something. He'll just run.

Run back to a hopefully still naked Kate.


	3. Wherein Castle Tries to Make his Mother

**Chapter 3: Wherein Castle Tries To Make His Mother Vomit.**

* * *

When he gets back to the loft, he heads straight for the bedroom. Kate is not still naked, not still waiting for him. In fact, his bedroom is empty. An eternal optimist, he decides this is merely a setback, not a sign that she has gotten cold feet. He goes off in search of her.

His search is rather easy, since he finds her in the kitchen. She has apparently decided to forgo the Flashdance look in favor of his fluffy terrycloth robe, which is probably for the best, since he's developed a tendency to have nightmares about Jennifer Beals, for reasons he doesn't want to examine.

"Someone is overconfident," she says as he walks in.

"Huh? What?"

She nods towards the trash bag in his hand. "I applaud your enthusiasm, but that's way more than we need."

He looks down, realizes she thinks the entire bag is filled with condom boxes, shakes his head. About a dozen jokes spring to mind, but he decides it's safer to play it straight.

"No, no," he says, tearing open the bag. "Got a lot of stuff... buckets, tire gauge, stuff like that."

"Castle... I'm open to ... whatever, but... what exactly did you have in mind for all of that?"

"No, it was subterfuge. I'm Batman."

"Are you having a stroke?"

He stops, listens to himself, starts over. "No... Alexis was there, at the store. I, uh, didn't really want to explain why I was there."

"So you bought a mop bucket. Sure. Makes sense." He doesn't know if it's a good sign that she's giving him a look that is sincere, and not merely tolerant; like she thinks his crazy schemes actually do make sense. That really isn't good, since he needs her to be the sane one.

Staring at her, it finally clicks in his head that she's standing in his kitchen, naked save a bathrobe, and he doesn't have to keep his distance anymore, so he steps towards her, goes to kiss her. She pulls away.

"Castle," she says in warning, looking behind him, over his shoulder. He turns his head to look where she's looking.

"Richard, darling. You're home," Martha says, coming down the stairs.

"Mother," he says. He can't tell if he's frustrated or relieved. At least Kate had a decent reason for not kissing him. Not that she should have reasons.

Martha flounces into the kitchen, gives him a kiss to the cheek and a look he can't quite place. It feels like pity and smells like Channel. She breezes past him and Kate, goes to the fridge.

"What are you doing here, Mother?"

"I had dinner with a friend and have you seen the weather? I had no desire to make the drive to the island when it's raining like this, so I came here. Imagine my surprise when I find the lovely Detective Beckett here but no son or granddaughter." Martha turns to Kate, "Not that you aren't always welcome, darling."

"I had to run an errand," Castle says.

"Yes, Kate told me, though I can't see what could possibly be so urgent that you'd run out in this weather."

"You know, I'm just going to take your ... supplies ... to your room, Castle," Kate says, grabbing the bucket he's left on the counter. She's into his study before he's even aware that she's retreating. He just watches her leave.

"Richard," his mother says, forcing is focus back to her. He turns his head. "Are you alright?"

"Yes, Mother. I am terrific."

"You don't need to put on a brave face for me, kiddo. I know how hard it has to be for you to have her here."

"Mother, trust me, things are fine."

"Which is why you felt such an overwhelming need to get away from her that you decided you had to run errands?"

"I appreciate the concern, but a lot has changed since we last talked."

"You and Kate sat down, had a sober talk about your feelings, resolved your issues and found some common ground?" Martha asks, taking a sip from the 20oz of wine she's poured herself.

"No, not exactly."

"Not exactly?"

"Some things got in the way..." he says.

"Like?"

"Pizza. And a couch. Oh, and did you know every seventeen year old boy in this city has turned into a dog?"

"Are you okay, kiddo? You aren't making a lot of sense."

"This night hasn't made a lot of sense."

"Obviously. Look, darling, I'll help. She can't go home right now, not until her clothes are dry, so I'll keep you two company. Keep the conversation light, and it will all be okay in the morning, I promise."

"Really, Mother, that won't be necessary," he says.

"What won't be necessary?" Kate asks, coming back into the room. Not a retreat, then, he thinks to himself. Just hiding the evidence.

"I had suggested we all watch a movie," Martha says, "and I offered to make popcorn, but Richard thinks that that's too much."

Castle shakes his head, amazed at how effortlessly his mother is capable of lying.

"A movie?" Kate asks.

Castle just shrugs.

"Martha, why don't you pick something out. Rick and I will be out in a second."

Martha does an elaborate bow, heads off to the living room.

"Castle, what is your mother doing?" Kate asks once Martha is out of earshot.

"She's running interference," he says, sees the confused look on her face, "She thinks she's protecting me from being alone with you."

"Why would she think you don't want to be alone with me?"

"In all fairness, Kate, the last time she and I talked was after I left your apartment yesterday."

"Oh."

"Here's the thing," he says, "I could easily fix this and get her to leave us alone if I just went and told her we were planning on going back to the bedroom and go at it like rabbits on ecstasy. But I'm not sure if you want anyone to know."

"Pretty confident there, aren't we, Castle?"

"I got you in my bed naked once. Going to work as hard as I need to to make sure it happens again."

"Don't worry, it won't be that hard. And I'm perfectly fine with people knowing, just ..."

"Just what?"

"You're probably, before anyone else lets her know, gonna want to talk to Alexis. She might have some reservations."

"What? Why do you say that?"

"I heard her talking to Lanie. She thinks I'm stringing you along, and I suppose she has a point. Not that I was trying to..."

"It's okay, Kate. I understand. Like you said, we'll work on it, we'll be fine. But you're right - can't tell anyone until I get a chance to talk to Alexis first."

"Right, so we need an alternate way to get rid of your mother."

"I think I have an idea, just follow my lead."

She nods, takes his hand, let's him lead her back towards the living room. "By the way, does your mother even know what ecstasy is?"

"Yeah, she does. Doesn't quite see why anyone would feel the need to take the stuff, of course, but she's aware of it."

"Yes, well, for both our sakes, let's hope you're just as lively when you're her age."

They head back into the living room, where Martha and her bottle of wine have taken up residence. Kate sits on the couch while Castle goes over, roots through his DVD collection.

"I know you said you were going to pick something, Mother, but I had promised Kate an old classic, if you don't mind."

"Oh, darling, you know I love the classics."

He grabs a DVD, pops it into the machine. As the movie comes on, he goes and sits as close as he can to Kate on the couch. She lifts an eyebrow at him, doesn't say anything.

"I'd recommend not paying too much attention to the movie," he whispers in her ear.

The opening credits come on. It's a Korean movie, with subtitles. Old Boy.

"I've never heard of this movie, Richard," Martha says, "Are you sure it's a classic?"

Neither Castle nor Kate pays much attention to the movie as it runs. Both of them have seen it before, and while it's good, it's entirely inappropriate for the evening. Castle watches his mother, who tries gamely to deal with the violence, but slowly turns greener and greener as the movie continues.

Around the hour mark, Martha's bottle of Chardonnay is done, and so is she.

"Richard, darling, I really do think I need to turn in for the evening. I'm sorry kids, but you'll just have to enjoy your ... movie ... on your own."

"Are you sure, Mother? It's just getting to some of the best stuff."

He watches his mother almost choke. "No, dear, it's been a long day," she says, kissing him on the cheek. She whispers into his ear, "I'm sorry, but I'll turn down the sheets in the guest room for Kate. Things will look better in the morning."

He decides to ignore the idea of Kate in the guest room. "I'm sure they will, Mother. Sleep well."

He watches her walk up the stairs to her room, turns back to Kate.

"Clever," she says, "but it may have backfired."

"How's that?" he asks, going back to sit next to her.

"As much as I like violent Korean revenge flicks, they don't do much for the mood we had going earlier."

"We can get it back."

"Don't be so sure of your..." she trails off as he runs his hand inside her robe, trails it up from her knee along the inside of her thigh. She tilts her head back, her breathing gets shallow.

"Seems like we found it easily enough," he says. For the first time all night, he feels in control. "You know, I'm still wearing a lot of damp clothes from my 'errands' earlier. I could use some help getting out of them."

She stands up, pulls him off the couch. "If that wasn't such a stellar idea, I'd tease you for such an obvious line, Castle."


	4. Wait Why can't we take the Batmobile?

**Chapter 4: Wait, Why Can't We Take The Batmobile?**

**A/N: Why is taking fictional characters and dropping them into contrived (but sadly drawn from real life) situations so much fun? Is that the wrong question to ask?  
**

* * *

"Oh hell, what now, Castle?"

He has pinned her between himself and tile of his oversized shower. The robe she had been wearing is now decorating the side of the tub. His clothes have formed the Oregon Trail of Nudity across the floor of his bedroom and bath. All in all, a productive few minutes. Until he stopped.

"I'm waiting for the meteor," he says.

"What?"

"The meteor. Or the giant Earthquake. Whatever it is the Universe is going to throw at us to further prevent this from happening."

"This is happening, Castle. Or it will once you move."

"You say that, but any mo..."

He is interrupted by a knock on his bathroom door.

"See?" he asks her.

"Are you sure this is one of those situations where you wanted to be right?"

"Well, no... but..."

The knocking grows more insistent.

"You may want to answer that," she says.

"It's just the Universe, here to tell us we can't have sex."

"Just get it over with."

"Yes?" he calls out, turning off the shower so he can hear.

"Richard, darling. Some of your friends are here, looking for Kate," his mother says through the door.

"Seriously?"

"Why would I make that up, dear? Did she head home? She's not in the guest room."

"Which friends, Mother?"

"That detective, Esposito? And the pretty medical examiner that Alexis is working for."

"Okay. I'll be right out."

He drops his head against the tile, burying his face into the crook of Kate's neck.

"Seriously, did we do something wrong in a past life?" he asked into her bare skin. "We're just trying to have sex once. Is that really too much to ask for?"

"Just once?"

"Well, once as a downpayment on the million other times I'm planning."

"Rick, even if we had sex twice a day, it would take a few thousand years to get through a million times."

"Okay, four times a day then, and please don't do the math. You have to figure out how to get us out of this."

"Why me?"

"Well, because one, they are looking for you, and two, because it's my job to get us into the these situations, and yours to get us out."

"I don't like that arrangement."

His mother knocks again. "Richard? I thought you were coming?"

"I thought I was too," he says, under his breath. Kate thumps him in the arm.

"Just drying off, Mother," he says in a louder voice.

"Please hurry dear, they seem rather agitated, and I'm starting to worry about Kate too."

Castle groans, hears his mother leave again. He pushes away from Kate, steps out of the shower. He grabs two towels, hands on to Kate, dries his hair off with the other. As she dries off, he grabs his other robe off the back of the door, watches sadly as she shrugs back into hers. He's not enjoying the number of times she's gotten re-dressed tonight, but takes solace in the fact that he gets to get her naked again later. They are getting quite good at the runup to the event. They'll be Olympic quality by the time the actual event happens. If it ever does.

"I'm just going to go tell them some story."

"And you think that's going to work?"

"Better than telling them that my mother can't find you because I had you pined against my shower wall."

She thinks for a second, "Yeah, you need to get out there. I'll just ... stay here."

* * *

Twenty minutes later, Castle finds himself in the passenger seat of a Smart Car. Beside him, Lanie half-drives, half-rants. In even the best of circumstances, he'd find the overgrown golf-cart to be a tight fit, but it's made more so tonight by the presence of Javier Esposito in the car. Since it's only a two-seater, and Castle utterly failed to talk Lanie out of dragging him along, he's forced to have Esposito ride along, propped in his lap.

In an effort to give Esposito as much room as possible, lest the man snap and decide to kill Castle with his thumb, Castle has taken to tilting his head and shoulders back as much as possible, which makes him feel like he's twelve and trying to staunch a nosebleed. Subsequently, all he can see is the ceiling of the car.

His plan to get Lanie and Esposito to leave quickly did not work. He had left his room and spun a tale for a pissed off Esposito and frantic Lanie about how Kate had been in his neighborhood and had gotten caught in the rain, but had to leave. They'd asked why, and he'd ... okay, he'd extemporized, maybe a tad too much. There might have been mention of time travel. He isn't sure. By the end, he wasn't even paying attention to himself, simply trying to avoid mentioning anything about the shower. How Kate was still in the shower. How he really really liked that showering involved nudity...

Even now, squeezed into a tin can listening to Lanie and Esposito bicker, he can see her in his head, the how the stream of water hit her shoulders, ran down over her collarbones, lower, until...

Okay, so it's probably not in his best interests to get aroused while Esposito is sitting his lap. He needs to focus.

"Lanie, why the hell are we in this car again?"

"Mine's in the shop and my cousin is the only person who'd loan me one on short notice. There was no way in hell I was traipsing across Manhattan in this crap on foot."

"Are you sure you need all three of us?" It pops into his head, then, that he owns enough cars that they each could have had their own. None of them would have even get in this hamster ball, much less double or triple up. Not for the first time, he wishes his brain could keep up with the events of the night. Or be in the same time zone, at least.

"We brought you along so you could help. She's not at her place, she's not at your place, can't be at the precinct."

"Why can't she be at the precinct?"

"Didn't you say she came over for a few hours tonight?" Esposito asks. "Didn't you talk to her at all, bro'?"

Well, how does he answer that one, without explaining that talking wasn't high on their list of things to do tonight?

"Um, a little. Not about work though."

"Just CIA space alien time tra..."

"She quit, Castle," Lanie interrupts in a huff, "Which is why we need to FIND. HER." She enunciates the last words hard enough that Castle can feel them in his chest, like she's poking him.

His phone starts to ring. He goes to grab it, but realizes that it's in the front pocket of his jeans. The front pocket that is currently situated under Esposito's ass.

"You gonna get that, Castle?"

"Um..." He slides his hand into his pocket as gently as he can. He can feel the phone, but can't pull on it unless he gets his fingers around the bottom edge. Unfortunately, this requires bending his hand in such a way that causes Esposito's eyes to grow huge.

"Bro... cuppage?"

"Just grabbing the phone... I swear, just the phone."

He gets his phone loose, puts it to his ear. "You quit?"

"Yes, I quit. That's a tomorrow topic. Focus, Castle," Kate says on the other end of the line.

"Easy for you to say, Kate."

"Kate! Where is she?" Lanie asks beside him.

"Kate, where are you?" he asks. He'd feel stupid asking a question he knows the answer to, but thus far, no part of this night has made him feel smart.

"I'm at my Dad's Cabin."

"How the hell did you get there?"

He can hear her eye-roll through the phone. "I'm not actually at the cabin. I'm still in your bathroom. But you are going to tell Lanie and Esposito I am at the cabin, that I needed a few days away, and that way, no one will think to bother us until at least Monday."

"Oh, I like that. Why didn't you..." he trails off. "... think of that before I left?" would give him away.

"I'm a little distracted tonight, Rick," she says, obviously getting it anyway. "Or I'm trying to be. Besides, that yarn you spun for them obviously didn't work, so..."

"Yeah, yeah," he says to her. "Kate went to her Dad's cabin to unwind for a few days," he tells Lanie.

"Where is the cabin?" Lanie asks.

"Come on, Chica," Esposito says, "She'll be fine up there, obviously wants to be alone. Tell her we'll talk to her in a few days, Castle."

"You hear that?" he says into the phone.

"Yup."

"She heard," he says, hanging up. "So, can you take me home, maybe? Not that having Javi here on my lap isn't a thrill."

"Better not be a thrill, or you can just go ahead and walk back to that place of yours."

* * *

Somewhat placated, he convinces Lanie to drop him back at the loft. The night is feeling sadly repetitious.

"Darling, did you all find the lovely Detective that quickly?" he's asked as he walks in the door.

His mother is in the kitchen. Apparently the whole Lanie and Esposito drama has given her a second wind, or at least a second thirst. She has a $300 bottle of 2010 Burgundy open on the counter.

"Mother, is that one of my new bottles of DRC?"

"A chaotic night deserves a soothing influence, dear."

Crap. He feels his eyes starting to roll, stops them. He guessed right earlier, it does hurt. He should apologize to Kate.

Kate. Right. She's probably still hiding in the bathroom.

"Richard. Did you find Kate?"

"She, um, called me. When we were out. In the car. Driving," he says. Lying about sex apparently makes him babble. "She's fine. Just decided to get away."

"Away, dear, to where?"

"Oh, um, her father's cabin?"

"Oh, lovely. This is an excellent time of year for that. Where is her father's cabin?"

"I, um, don't know?" He can't think of any place plausibly close, given that his mother last saw Kate a little over an hour ago.

Martha nods, let's the subject drop. She pours more Burgundy into her glass, and Rick cringes. He's not against sharing, per se, but he'd hoped to open that particular bottle with Kate, now that things were turning around.

"So, kiddo, now that the drama with Kate is finally put to bed..."

He cringes a second time, now at her word choice. He wishes Kate were put to bed.

"...my friend is still available."

"Wait, what?"

"The one I told you about, from my school? She's still available."

"Are you trying to set me up, Mother?" He prays that Kate can't hear this.

"Well, unless you have a good reason not to try dating again. It might do you good. Unless you have a better idea? Like, maybe, inviting Kate to stop hiding in your bathroom?"

"She's not ... it's not..." He gives up. "How did you know?"

"She left her clothes in the dryer, kiddo."

"It's not what it looks like. She just didn't want to face her friends tonight."

"Which is why the two of you ducked into the shower together twenty minutes before they arrived?"

He's been defeated by a master. He can admit it.

"When did you figure it all out?"

"Oh darling, I'm mature, not blind. It doesn't take a lot of reasoning to put two and two together when you come home to find the woman your son is in love with wearing nothing but a bathrobe and you are off buying condoms. It's just like your senior year of High School all over again. What was that poor girl's name again?"

"Imogene," he says. He'd managed to completely block that incident out of his mind. "If you knew, Mother, why did you..." he can't find the words, so he just makes a hand wavy gesture in the air. That's what the night has reduced him to - random flailing.

"I've been waiting almost four years for this. I wasn't going to miss the opportunity to have you two squirm. I didn't know you were going to get interrupted again. Which reminds me, shouldn't you go rescue her from your bathroom?"

He shakes his head. He's done fighting against this night. He goes back through his bedroom into his bathroom. Kate's still there, in his robe, sitting cross-legged on the floor, leaning her back against the tub.

"That took longer than it should have," she says as he walks in.

"Well, one does not simply brush off Esplanie."

"Tolkien and shipper references at the same time? Really, Castle? I can't believe I am still considering sleeping with you, when you say things like that."

"Yes, well, you get my references, so..." he says, shrugging. He catches sight of the thing in front of her, "Are those q-tips?"

"And band-aids, yes. I got bored, and there aren't a lot of things to do in a bathroom once you've showered. You're the only man I've met who owns cuticle scissors."

"Only one secure enough in his masculinity to admit to owning them." He's actually sort of impressed. With the scissors, band aids and q-tips, she's managed a decent miniature of the Eiffel Tower. Another hidden talent. He'll have to remember that for when their kids get old enough for Popsicle projects.

Popsicle projects. Kids. Crap, he really hates his brain tonight. Bad brain. Bad bad bad gun jumping brain.

"Can we please get out of here now?" she asks.

"Um, yeah, except..."

"Oh god," she says, looking up at him. "There really is a meteor coming, isn't there?"

"Not unless you count my mother. She figured us out. She's, um, waiting to interrogate us, I guess."

"That's it? Not that talking to your mother about my intentions was high on my list of plans tonight, but, if I'd known, at least I could have gotten out of here earlier."

"Yeah, well, just be happy you didn't have to grab Espo's ass."

"I wouldn't have minded that as much." At his horrified look, she continues, "What? He has a nice ass."

"I'm not touching that."

"Sounds like you already did."

"Just...let's go face the firing squad."

"Talking about sex with me is like facing a firing squad?" she asks, as he helps her to her feet.

"Just for that, you're answering all the questions she has."

"Toughen up, Castle," she says, lightly slapping him on the shoulder. Getting confined to his bathroom has obviously made her a bit giddy. He'll remember that for the future.

* * *

**A/N: Espo is better than Esposito. Fewer letters, nicer balance. Cuter.**


	5. Kate is More Banana Than Leprechaun

**Disclaimer:** I don't own... actually, it will take to long to mention all the things I don't own. I own a pair of shoes, half a bottle of water, and that's about it. Other people own all other things.

**A/N: **This is turning into an after 'Always' story, which I don't want to do, so ... wrap it up and do a sequel, or just do a jump-forward past all the angsty stuff that other people are doing a better job with anyway?

* * *

Castle wakes slowly, reaches out across the bed for Kate. He just comes up with empty sheets.

Well, that's not good.

He reaches around, looks under her pillow. He then realizes that she's not a leprechaun, and so finding her under the pillow is unlikely. He puts it down. The bed is still warm on her side, so he didn't dream the previous night.

Duane Reede, a SMARTcar, foregoing sex for pizza - yeah, there isn't enough alcohol in the world for him to have dreamt last night.

He gets up, throws on sweatpants and his favorite Green Lantern t-shirt. He's still peeved at Ryan Reynolds, but the guy who does the voice for the animated stuff is okay, so he's kept the shirt.

Kate is not in his study, nor in his living room, but he does find a rather dazed Alexis there, staring out the window. She must of just come home, he realizes. That must have been what woke him up.

"Alexis! How's my high school graduate?"

"Dad," Alexis says, letting herself be hugged. "You seem better."

"Better?" He squeals. Is it that obvious he just got laid? Except he didn't get laid, not yet. He still has to fix that, though he really shouldn't be thinking that around his daughter. "When was I bad?"

"Come on, Dad. You've been mopey for weeks. And last night, at the drug store... wandering around like a zombie."

"I don't think zombies like drugstores, honey. So... fabulous parties? Sophisticated night life? Do tell all..."

"Later, okay? It was a lot of fun, but I need a nap."

"Did you eat? Let me at least get you a bite first..."

"Okay," she says, yawning.

He walks into the kitchen, leaving his daughter in the living room. He walks around to the far side of the island, closer to fridge, when something grabs ahold of his sweatpants and pulls him off his feet. He lands in a tangled pile on the tile, flopped against a squatting Kate Beckett.

"Um, hi. What was that for?"

"Sssshhhh...we're hiding."

He looks at Kate. She's not making a lot of sense. He wonders if this is how he usually appears to her.

"Hiding?"

"Alexis is here."

"Yeah, I, um, know. So why are we hiding?"

"I was thinking about it last night. I don't think we can just spring this on her. We need to give her a chance to get used to it."

"By hiding." He sort of finds it cute that Kate's protective of his daughter's feelings, but it's disconcerting how much it's making her act like him. Only one of them can afford to act like him, and he'd prefer it if it stays him.

"It's going to be hard to transition her if she realizes I slept here last night."

Alexis walks into the kitchen at this point, rendering Kate and Castle's hiding moot.

"Um, Dad, Kate, what are you two doing down there?"

He looks at his daughter. It's quite obvious he can't tell the truth, since you can't tell your daughter you are hiding from her, even when you are. Especially when you are hiding badly.

"We're hiding," Kate says. Castle shakes his head. Obviously you can tell your boyfriend's daughter anything you want. Boyfriend? He's allowed to think that, right? Even before the fumbly stupid conversation they still have to have? And the sex?

"Um, okay, from whom? Why?"

"We're hiding from Mother. She's, um..." he says.

"...trying to set us up," Kate finishes.

"So? How is that any different from normal?" Alexis asks.

"Oh, no, not with each other," he says, "with, um, people from her class. Different people."

"Why would she do that?"

"I have..." he has no lie for that one, " ... no idea whatsoever."

"Okay, well, I haven't had enough sleep for this level of weird, so I'm going to go to bed. And I think Grams has already left for the day anyway, so you can... whatever."

She shakes her head, leaves the kitchen. Castle peeks his head above the counter, doesn't get all the way up, like he's still hiding. He watches his daughter head up the stairs.

He doesn't realize he's gotten himself sort of frozen in the eyes-just-above-the-counter pose for way too long until he sees Kate looking at him from the other side of the island. He stands up, tries to muster as much dignity as a disheveled man in a Green Lantern t-shirt who has just hidden from an eighteen year old girl can pull off.

It's really not a lot, on the whole. Kate laughs at him.

"What?" he asks, "You started it."

"Your head looks like a bird nest," she says.

"A ruggedly handsome bird's nest, you mean."

"Yes, that's it exactly."

She trails off, and they both seem to realize that they are alone again. He gives her a look.

"Oh no, Castle. No way," she says.

"What? You were interested last night..."

* * *

The prior night had been an unbroken sequence of ever dumber obstacles. After shaking off Lanie and Espo, he'd been called out by his mother, and he and Kate had been forced to come clean. He really should have known better. You may not expect the Spanish Inquisition, but you could always expect Martha.

"Darling," Martha had said, sweeping Kate up in a hug when they'd left the bathroom, "I'm so sorry my little bit of fun got out of hand. Drink?"

Kate shook her head, no.

"I assume, with all the skulking around, you two are trying to keep this marvelous thing quiet?" Martha asked, taking a big drink from her glass.

"We just thought ... I want a chance to sit and talk with Alexis before she finds out inadvertently."

"How wonderfully mature of you. That must have been Kate's idea," she said, turning to Kate. "You are a good influence on him."

"Thank you so much for your support, Mother."

"Well, then, your secret is safe with me. I shan't keep you from ... whatever, but please keep the door closed, in case ... whatever ... gets loud."

Martha went around the table, squeezed her son's shoulder goodnight, and then leaned in to kiss Kate on the cheek. When she pulled away, she gasped.

"Martha?" Kate asked.

"I'm sorry... what happened to your neck, dear?"

Rick looked over at Kate. A row of bruises had welted up on her neck, four right in a row.

"My neck?" Kate asked.

"Not to be blunt, kiddo, but your neck looks like a banana someone dropped down a flight of stairs."

No, Rick thought. It looked a neck that had been choked.

"Oh, I was in a fight with a perp, earlier. Don't worry Martha, they look bad, but are perfectly fine."

"I hope so dear. Feel free to borrow some of my concealer in the morning, if you need."

"Thank you."

Martha left then, walked up the stairs blowing them a theatrical kiss goodbye. Rick watched her go, the whole of the night finally crashing down around him.

Kate caught his eye. "After everything tonight, that was what finally killed the mood, isn't it?"

"You nearly died. You told me earlier, but I guess I wasn't really listening."

"I did, but I didn't. I'm here. I'm whole."

"There's more, isn't there? More than just the neck."

"I suspect, yeah. I haven't gone looking, yet."

He stood up, took her hand. "Come on then, let's go look."

"Not what I had planned for tonight, Castle."

"Was the plan ... I dunno, was it always for this to just be a one night thing?"

"No. Absolutely not."

"Then we have time."

* * *

"If I remember right, you are the one who finally stopped things last night," Kate says.

"Yeah, well... now we're both rested, interruption free..."

"No... not with ... Alexis is here."

"Her door is closed. Our door will be closed. Unless you scream to wake the dead, I think we'll be fine."

"Maybe I want to be loud."

"Ooohh..."

"Come on, Castle, I'll buy you breakfast, then we can go to my place. Avoid getting accidentally interrupted?"

"Seriously? We never get interrupted. What makes you think that would happen?"

* * *

His brain, which wasn't his best friend yesterday, has pretty much broken up with him today. This is because he has discovered that Kate Beckett, she of the badge and gun and don't fuck with me attitude, is a cuddler.

A cuddler. That fact is a little furry fox, quickly escaping from the hounds of rational thinking.

He learns this on the cab ride of shame back to her place (is it a cab ride of shame if they are both in the cab?), where she sits so close that there is no room for the Holy Ghost, and keeps ... touching him. Not bad touching, you know, not illegal touching. Just copious touching, and leaning, and playing with his fingers and his collar and breathing on his neck and smiling in wicked ways that has taken any last coherent thoughts he has and Old Yeller'ed them behind the woodshed.

He'd wanted to just pick up a bagel and some coffee, but she talked him into omelets at the little diner a few blocks from her apartment. The cab pulls up to the place, and Kate hands over some cash. She takes his hand, semi-pulling him out of the taxi and into the diner, but he stops on the street, looking in at the patrons having late breakfasts. She tugs again, but he doesn't move.

"Castle?"

He nods at the window. "Kate ... look inside."

She gets a confused look on her face, turns, and peers in the window. It's a sunny day, after last night's rains, and she goes to put her head to the glass, so she can see around the glare, but he pulls her away.

"Castle! I thought you wanted me to look."

"To look! Not get caught! They'll see you."

"Who?"

"Ryan. And Jenny. And Esposito, Lanie, Karpowski, Tolliver, Perlmutter, Cole ... is that Gates' husband? It's like the entire 12th woke up this morning and thought 'hey, I could go for some waffles!'"

"What are they doing?"

"I don't know, having snacks after screenwriting class?"

"It could be important."

"Yes, but to find out, we'd have to go in there. Going in there would pretty much negate our whole 'people not finding out' plan."

"So no breakfast then?"

"We'll get supplies. I'll make you pancakes."

"What is it with you boys and pancakes?"

"I could makes smorelets instead."

"Pancakes it is."


	6. Flour and Eggs Make Many Things

**Disclaimer:** I own an awesome pancake recipe, but none of what else is featured herein...

* * *

How has he never been here before?

This is what he thinks to himself as they wander around the charming little grocery store near Kate's apartment. Castle is amazed she even knows where one is, but is then doubly surprised that she doesn't cook more, if this is where she shops. He's going to have to start coming over here to buy food. They have everything. He keeps expecting Daniel Boulud or someone to walk by, shopping cart in hand.

The cheese section alone makes him slightly weepy.

Kate, sadly, does not weep, even after he explains the wonderfully underrated charms of goat's milk cheeses.

"Oh, Kate, look at this. This stuff is great."

She looks over his shoulder at the bottle he's holding. She shakes her head.

"We don't need first cold pressed olive oil for pancakes. We don't need any oil for pancakes, actually."

"Yes, I am aware of how to make pancakes," he says. "But I thought you could use a little tour of a store like this. It's called a grocery store. This is where you can buy the things can be put together to create food."

"And my apartment is a place where we could make food, and then eat food, and then burn off that food. Or would you like to give your speech on stinky cheeses again?"

"No no, you're right, we can get to the burning off plan..."

* * *

Kate's kitchen is not large. At least, not compared to his. However, in this specific instance, a lack of space is working to his advantage, since it means a return to the whole glorious bumping and touching thing that they've recently introduced into their repertoire.

"Can you hand me the vinegar?" he asks.

"Vinegar? Seriously, Castle?"

"Someone who wanted to use Bisquick cannot criticize the recipe of a true pancake artisan."

"Pancake Artisan? I don't think my kitchen is big enough for the three of us. Maybe I should leave things to you and your ego." She moves away from him, but he reaches out with his non-whisking arm, pulls her back to his side.

She leans into him, dips her pinky finger delicately into the batter, brings it to her mouth. When she slowly licks the batter off of her finger, he can feel it in his groin.

"Okay, fine, Artisan it is," she says with such a smile that he fumbles pouring the batter into the skillet. The resulting puddle looks less like a pancake and more like a sperm hugging an ottoman. She looks into the skillet and giggles.

"Maybe I spoke too soon," she says. He should feel insulted, should point out that his less than graceful shaping is her fault, except that she giggled, and he's found that his IQ temporarily drops forty points every time she giggles.

He fiddles with the skillet, flipping a few pancakes as Kate grabs plates and syrup. He has to wonder about a woman who didn't have milk or eggs in her fridge, but did have maple syrup.

He motions for her to hold out a plate, and when she does, he drops the ottoman pancake and one he tried to make into glock onto it. He's always enjoyed making his pancakes into shapes. He claims it's because he has a daughter he likes to make laugh, but really, he does it because it's fun.

Kate looks at his creations, cocks her eyebrow. Yeah, she can see through him, he knows, but they are alone and flirting together in her kitchen on a Saturday afternoon, and if she thinks he's a dork but still has him here... he'll take it.

She hops up on the counter to eat, and rather than load up another plate, he just drops more pancakes - Mickey Mouses this time - onto hers. He comes and stands between the vee of her legs, and she in turn slices off a bit of pancake with her fork, holds it out for him to eat.

As he chews, he realizes that, careful as she is, she's really a bit of a sloppy cook. She has flour dusting her cheek, her forearm, and the thighs of her jeans. He can't help himself, he laughs.

"What?"

He rubs his thumb over her cheek, shows her the flour that has accumulated on the pad there. "You, my dear Kate, are a bit of a mess."

"Hmmm..." she says, and her eyes darken in a way that is both fun and calculating. He loves this side of her.

Her free hand comes around before he's really aware, and flicks him in the nose, leaving a line of maple syrup on the tip.

He reaches to her side, tries to find his own weapon and she strikes again, this time with a handful of flour dusted into his hair. His fingers come down in the butter, so he smears it onto the exposed skin of her midriff where her shirt has ridden up. She gasps and gives him a look that let's him know that the opening sorties are over.

Things do not get less childish after that.

It doesn't take long until they and most of her kitchen surfaces are covered with milk and flour, syrup, butter, sugar and the rest, and he's got her pined hard against her refrigerator while she's holding an uncracked egg over his head.

He looks at her and promptly forgets the egg of Damocles she's holding. Her face is covered in flour and she even has a bit of eggshell stuck in her eyebrow, and yet he's so completely taken by the look in her eyes that he has trouble breathing, so he pushes harder into her, forgets the game, and takes her mouth with his.

She drops the egg. He can't tell if it lands on him or not, as all he's really aware of is how one of her hands is pulling hard at the back of his head and the other is sliding along the waistband of his jeans, tickling the sensitive skin there.

"Bed?" he manages to gasp out.

"Here."

He looks down at the floor. "Spanish tile?"

In response, she flicks open the button of his jeans, runs her hand lower.

"Here," he says.

* * *

"Eyah, this tile is cold."

"Opens in the front, Rick."

"Um, you're on my hair..."

"An inch to the righ... oh yes, yes, oh god."

"Ricky? You're really going with Ricky?"

"Your knee is, um..."

"Just trying to get leverage."

"Leave the syrup and butter where they are."

"Cramping is not to be taken lightly."

"More."

* * *

"Oh, Jeez, ouch. Man, there's a reason none of this part ever makes it into the romance novels."

"You read romance novels?" she asks, before echoing his grunt with her own.

"Okay, the romantic interludes of crime novels. Oh, let me help with that," he says, rolling onto his side and taking her hand away from her hair. He reaches behind her, untangling her hair from her bra. One of the things that neither of them had quite anticipated was that flour and eggs and the heat from some otherwise very nice friction can all combined to form a sort of glue. They are lying on Kate's kitchen floor, half-naked and half-glued to all the detritus of their aborted food fight. It's an entirely ridiculous scene, and if he were here with anyone but Kate, he'd be mortified right now. Instead he's just exhausted and happy.

"I really should have thought of this, but pancakes aren't a normal part of my foreplay routine."

"Because the rest of the prior twenty four hours are?"

"Touche'."

"This scene will not appear in any of your books, ever."

"Not on par with tequila shots, is that what you are saying?"

She softens, sits up. The exposed skin of her back makes a pathetic popping noise as it stickily pulls away from the tile. It sounds, vaguely, like opening Tupperware, but they both ignore it as she leans in, kisses him again.

"Better than tequila, but since everyone already thinks we live out all of your sex scenes..."

"I think we need a shower."

"We need to clean my kitchen."

"Shower, then clean."

"Clean, then shower."

He looks around. He's actually the neater of the two of them, and he's in enough of a post-coital bliss that he'll do whatever she asks anyway. He stands, helps her up, even though their hands stick together as he does so. He looks around the kitchen as he pulls his shirt back on, has to wrestle it over bits of flesh that have batter stuck to them. He can't help but laugh at the scene.

"What?" she asks.

"Look around."

She shakes her head, but looks closely at her kitchen. He can tell the moment that she sees what he's seen. She smiles that smile he's so used to, when she finds something funny, but doesn't want to admit it to him. But it really is funny. All the flour and batter, in addition to acting like glue, has also acted like paint. Her kitchen is covered in hand prints, ass prints, and ... other signs ... of what they've just been doing.

For a second he's tempted...

"Don't think of it, Castle."

"What?"

"Taking a picture."

He shakes his head to deny it, because of course that is what he was thinking.

"Come on. The faster we get this done, the more time we can spend in the shower before dinner with Alexis. The cleaning supplies are under the sink."

"I've fantasized about this moment for years, you know, and I can't say any of the fantasies ever involved the line 'the cleaning supplies are under the sink.'"

"Not one French Maid fantasy? That surprises me," she says, handing him paper towels.

"Okay, so there were a few."

"Good, since you'd look cute it a little white apron."

"I really would," he says.

* * *

**A/N: **So, that's the end for now, since sexytimes, albeit gluey sexytimes, have occurred. However, the plot demons have already attacked my pretty little head, so a sequel will start soon.


End file.
